Ah, fall is in the air. With the temperatures dropping from 102 to the 80s in the past couple of days, I am reminded that my favorite time of year is upon us (or so I'd like to believe). After all, Texas weather is unpredictable. I'm told that our days of 100-degree highs are over, but we shall see. Dallas weathermen and their forecasts are about as reliable as a politician in delivering on his campaign promises.
Speaking of politicians, I am so ready for this election to be over--but I promise to steer clear of talking politics on this blog. After all, they say you should "write what you know," and my knowledge about shoes, fashion and cosmetics far outweighs my knowledge of the political arena.
While I am sad to say "adios" to my dozens of colorful, strappy summertime wedges, sandals and open-toed heels, I look forward to boot season and colorful-sweater weather. I don't know what it is about fall, but it's always been my favorite season. The leaves start to turn, and there's a certain crispness in the air. Now is the perfect time to shop for summer clearance items, and I highly recommend that you do take advantage of the amazing deals. My mailbox is overflowing with coupons and store mailers, and, while thumbing through the summer-inventory sales and several fashion magazines over the past few weeks, I couldn't help but notice the upcoming trends for fall and winter. One of them perplexes me, and, quite honestly, scares me a little bit. It is none other than the wedge sneaker.
Don't get me wrong, I love a good wedge shoe. But this compilation of a wedge heel and a sporty sneaker in one is just plain goofy-looking. And they're everywhere! The salesgirl at DSW had on a pair, they're in all the fall catalogs--I've even written copy for a few of them. I just don't understand the concept. Have fashion footwear designers completely run out of ideas and resorted to strange mutations to standard designs for something new and fun?
I don't know--it just reminds me of some bad fashion trend held over from the early 90s. Frankly, these "weakers" or "snedges" (hey, if the fashion industry can use such words as "jeggings" and "shooties," I can coin my own fashion terms) are just plain U-G-L-Y! They look like something you'd sport if you were preparing for a trip to the moon. I honestly believe Justin Bieber is somewhere behind this scheme.
Nevertheless, fashion trends come, and they go (thank the Lord!). So while I won't be jumping on board a NASA-funded trip to the moon in this season's "snedges," I'll applaud your courage in wearing the strange shoes (and will most definitely make fun of you behind your back at the hideousness of your fashion sense). I guess at the end of the day, I must remember--to each her own!
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
"Dyeing" for a Change
This morning, it took me a moment to recognize the reflection staring back at me from the mirror. It's only been a few days since I darkened my summer highlighted-blond locks to a rich, fall reddish auburn hue--although, when it comes to hair color, change is nothing new to me. What can I say? I get bored easily. My hair color changes like the weather in Texas.
The quickest and easiest alteration you can make to your physical appearance for the sake of boredom involves a supply of chemicals and a little bit of bravery (or simply the former and a good stylist whom you trust completely).
As someone who's seen my share of hair color chemicals over the years, I've also experienced plenty of hair emergencies. Any woman who has decided (after margarita number 4) to change her hair color at midnight after a trip down the grocery store boxed hair color aisle can appreciate my not-so exaggerated use of the word "emergency."
Maybe we all should have paid better attention in elementary school art class when the teacher explained the basics of the color wheel. Unfortunately, accidentally achieved pink hair cannot be expunged simply by putting on more brown dye to cover it. (Lesson # 2--never call your boyfriend in tears, looking for moral support after a hair-dyeing experiment gone awry. Lesson #1 was to withstand the desire to color your hair while under the influence of tequila.)
Yes, I've had every hair color under the rainbow--many of which were purely accidental. However, I must say there's no such mood elevator quite as effective as freshly dyed locks that turn out drop dead gorgeous. It instills confidence and makes you feel like a brand new woman--assuming that others even notice the difference. I can't tell you how many times others have looked at me after a drastic change and said, 1) "there's something different about you..." or 2) absolutely NOTHING! So help me God, I'll kill you for not noticing something quite so drastic as a blond head gone red overnight because, let's face it--a professional dye job doesn't come cheap!
I guess ultimately, it doesn't really matter what others think about my color, though. I know my boyfriend and dad prefer me as a tan blond even though I am a natural brunette (I think, at least. It's been a loooong time since I've seen it!) If you know anything about me at all, it's that I'll do what I want! And if I feel fabulous, that's all that counts. One thing I can tell you for certain right now is that I feel like a brand new woman, ready to take on the world. Oh, and in case you were wondering--redheads (in this current moment) really DO have more fun!
The quickest and easiest alteration you can make to your physical appearance for the sake of boredom involves a supply of chemicals and a little bit of bravery (or simply the former and a good stylist whom you trust completely).
As someone who's seen my share of hair color chemicals over the years, I've also experienced plenty of hair emergencies. Any woman who has decided (after margarita number 4) to change her hair color at midnight after a trip down the grocery store boxed hair color aisle can appreciate my not-so exaggerated use of the word "emergency."
Maybe we all should have paid better attention in elementary school art class when the teacher explained the basics of the color wheel. Unfortunately, accidentally achieved pink hair cannot be expunged simply by putting on more brown dye to cover it. (Lesson # 2--never call your boyfriend in tears, looking for moral support after a hair-dyeing experiment gone awry. Lesson #1 was to withstand the desire to color your hair while under the influence of tequila.)
Yes, I've had every hair color under the rainbow--many of which were purely accidental. However, I must say there's no such mood elevator quite as effective as freshly dyed locks that turn out drop dead gorgeous. It instills confidence and makes you feel like a brand new woman--assuming that others even notice the difference. I can't tell you how many times others have looked at me after a drastic change and said, 1) "there's something different about you..." or 2) absolutely NOTHING! So help me God, I'll kill you for not noticing something quite so drastic as a blond head gone red overnight because, let's face it--a professional dye job doesn't come cheap!
I guess ultimately, it doesn't really matter what others think about my color, though. I know my boyfriend and dad prefer me as a tan blond even though I am a natural brunette (I think, at least. It's been a loooong time since I've seen it!) If you know anything about me at all, it's that I'll do what I want! And if I feel fabulous, that's all that counts. One thing I can tell you for certain right now is that I feel like a brand new woman, ready to take on the world. Oh, and in case you were wondering--redheads (in this current moment) really DO have more fun!
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Peanut Butter & JELLIES!!!!
A wave of nostalgia swept over me as I recently visited several of my favorite shoe stores and encountered rows upon rows of jellies sandals. As a child of the 80s, I had my fair share of "plastic wear," and I sported it like the fashionista-in-training I was. I guess we should have known then the pains I was willing to undertake for the sake of fashion. I wore those things until my ankles bled and Mom made me toss them out. It broke my heart when she insisted I stop wearing jellies, but I guess I understand her point of view at my now more mature age of 31. It's difficult to stand up when you're sliding around in your own pool of muddy sweat. Ok, so they didn't make for pretty feet, but I sure felt like a princess when I wore them.
To this very day, some 26 years later, I can still remember my most favorite pair. Nonnie took me to Payless Shoe Store and I picked out a solid (no-holed) clear pair with an allover white lace print. They reminded me of Cinderella's glass slippers. What more could a little girl want in a shoe?! I was devastated the day my dad ran over them with the lawnmower and cut them in half as a result of my leaving them out in the middle of the yard. As a kid who grew up out in the country, there were no fashion runways to prance down, so I spent a great deal of my time barefoot in the backyard. A part of my soul mourned the loss of such unique and beautiful jellies--and I never again saw another pair like them.
I chuckled to myself a couple days ago when I learned from my mom that my 2 1/2-year-old niece, Tori, has discovered the joy of jellies and their likeness to Cinderella's glass slippers. I guess you could say the apple doesn't fall far from the family tree. I swear to goodness, Tori is a miniature version of me at that age, and I must admit--I'm so proud (and a little scared for my brother and sister-in-law!).
I just hope that Nonna (my mom) doesn't mind a little foot sweat so that my favorite niece can feel like the princess she is. Maybe Mom has become a tad bit more tolerant in her golden years as a grandma. I can't wait to take Tori shopping and buy that baby girl any pair of jellies she has her little heart set on. Call it a right of passage if you will. I just want her to experience the joy that colorful plastic brought me as a child. Ah, jellies---the greatest invention since sliced bread and peanut butter!
To this very day, some 26 years later, I can still remember my most favorite pair. Nonnie took me to Payless Shoe Store and I picked out a solid (no-holed) clear pair with an allover white lace print. They reminded me of Cinderella's glass slippers. What more could a little girl want in a shoe?! I was devastated the day my dad ran over them with the lawnmower and cut them in half as a result of my leaving them out in the middle of the yard. As a kid who grew up out in the country, there were no fashion runways to prance down, so I spent a great deal of my time barefoot in the backyard. A part of my soul mourned the loss of such unique and beautiful jellies--and I never again saw another pair like them.
I chuckled to myself a couple days ago when I learned from my mom that my 2 1/2-year-old niece, Tori, has discovered the joy of jellies and their likeness to Cinderella's glass slippers. I guess you could say the apple doesn't fall far from the family tree. I swear to goodness, Tori is a miniature version of me at that age, and I must admit--I'm so proud (and a little scared for my brother and sister-in-law!).
I just hope that Nonna (my mom) doesn't mind a little foot sweat so that my favorite niece can feel like the princess she is. Maybe Mom has become a tad bit more tolerant in her golden years as a grandma. I can't wait to take Tori shopping and buy that baby girl any pair of jellies she has her little heart set on. Call it a right of passage if you will. I just want her to experience the joy that colorful plastic brought me as a child. Ah, jellies---the greatest invention since sliced bread and peanut butter!
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Reality Bites
In recent years, reality shows have become wildly popular, but my question is this: "are they actually real?" The answer in a word, hardly. I find it quite ironic that tapings of The Real Housewives, Big Brother, Survivor, Big Rich Texas, etc. are considered to be reality shows. The fact is, they are as far from reality as can possibly be imagined.
Honestly, in what world do teenagers have plastic surgery that's routine as bi-yearly dental cleanings and women shop around the clock for designer fashions that cost more than a year's rent? Hello, it's not reality!
Millions of people tune in to these shows weekly to satisfy their cravings for a dose of reality TV for one reason...to witness the train wrecks that they are. I can't even have a lunchtime conversation with my coworkers (you know who you are) without a discussion arising about the latest happenings to one of the "real" housewives of whatever-city-has-disgraced-its-namesake for D-rate publicity. I don't have much to contribute to those conversations because A) I don't watch those shows and B) I couldn't care less.
I don't mean to get on my "teenagers-today-have-no-idea-what-real-life-is-like" soapbox, so please forgive me, but it must be said that the reason they expect Daddy to hand over the keys to a brand new SUV on their 16th birthday is partly a result of these so-called reality shows. It's almost as though they feel a sense of entitlement because that's what is portrayed on the sets of these TV shows.
I remember like it was yesterday...the minute the credits rolled at the end of the first Sex & the City movie, my mother's first words were, "You know that's not reality." Bummer. I would love to live in a New York City studio apartment and still have the means to drop thousands of dollars on Manolos and Dior on my writer's salary. But as a real-life writer, I can 100% honestly vouch for the validity of my mother's statement. While I do have a semi-unhealthy obsession with shoes, I sure as heck don't have the likes of Louboutins or Jimmy Choos lining the shelves of my closet.
Don't get me wrong...I'm all for TV shows allowing everyday folks possessing God-given talents the ability to shine and receive accolades and recognition they would otherwise never receive (yea for The Voice and Project Runway!); however, I'm not about to waste my time watching wealthy, catty women bad-mouth each other while cameras are rolling.
I also think it's great that certain reality shows help morbidly obese individuals with lifelong eating disorders drop the pounds that present life-threatening health problems and keep them from feeling a sense of self worth. But sending a group of people to a tropical island and taping them as they duke it out over team challenges in order to determine that last man standing....NOT reality!
If you want to film a true reality show, drop contestants off in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a magnifying glass and a pocket knife and see if they can actually survive MacGyver style. But don't for a second pretend that they're out there "roughing it" with a camera crew standing ten feet away feeding them McDonalds cheeseburgers between takes. That's not survival!
Bottomline, for the sake of guilty-pleasure entertainment, reality shows are fine. But as for passing them off as real life, the tribe has spoken....."reality shows bite!"
Honestly, in what world do teenagers have plastic surgery that's routine as bi-yearly dental cleanings and women shop around the clock for designer fashions that cost more than a year's rent? Hello, it's not reality!
Millions of people tune in to these shows weekly to satisfy their cravings for a dose of reality TV for one reason...to witness the train wrecks that they are. I can't even have a lunchtime conversation with my coworkers (you know who you are) without a discussion arising about the latest happenings to one of the "real" housewives of whatever-city-has-disgraced-its-namesake for D-rate publicity. I don't have much to contribute to those conversations because A) I don't watch those shows and B) I couldn't care less.
I don't mean to get on my "teenagers-today-have-no-idea-what-real-life-is-like" soapbox, so please forgive me, but it must be said that the reason they expect Daddy to hand over the keys to a brand new SUV on their 16th birthday is partly a result of these so-called reality shows. It's almost as though they feel a sense of entitlement because that's what is portrayed on the sets of these TV shows.
I remember like it was yesterday...the minute the credits rolled at the end of the first Sex & the City movie, my mother's first words were, "You know that's not reality." Bummer. I would love to live in a New York City studio apartment and still have the means to drop thousands of dollars on Manolos and Dior on my writer's salary. But as a real-life writer, I can 100% honestly vouch for the validity of my mother's statement. While I do have a semi-unhealthy obsession with shoes, I sure as heck don't have the likes of Louboutins or Jimmy Choos lining the shelves of my closet.
Don't get me wrong...I'm all for TV shows allowing everyday folks possessing God-given talents the ability to shine and receive accolades and recognition they would otherwise never receive (yea for The Voice and Project Runway!); however, I'm not about to waste my time watching wealthy, catty women bad-mouth each other while cameras are rolling.
I also think it's great that certain reality shows help morbidly obese individuals with lifelong eating disorders drop the pounds that present life-threatening health problems and keep them from feeling a sense of self worth. But sending a group of people to a tropical island and taping them as they duke it out over team challenges in order to determine that last man standing....NOT reality!
If you want to film a true reality show, drop contestants off in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a magnifying glass and a pocket knife and see if they can actually survive MacGyver style. But don't for a second pretend that they're out there "roughing it" with a camera crew standing ten feet away feeding them McDonalds cheeseburgers between takes. That's not survival!
Bottomline, for the sake of guilty-pleasure entertainment, reality shows are fine. But as for passing them off as real life, the tribe has spoken....."reality shows bite!"
Thursday, March 29, 2012
"Google" It!
If I had a nickel for every silly argument Jeremy and I had that ended in the resolve to "Google it," I can assure you I'd be writing this blog for a living as I'd no longer need my day job. Lately, I've caught myself wondering what did we do before Google?
In the olden days, if we needed information about something, we had to look it up in the encyclopedia. Well, I'm sad to say that, just a few weeks ago, Encyclopedia Britannica announced they will no longer print hard copies. Everything is now digital. I'm not ashamed to admit that the English/grammar nerd inside of me was a little disappointed to hear the news.
As much as I hated scouring the pages of those massive reference books for information to fill countless school reports, I relied on them all throughout my elementary education. While one could easily suffer a hernia from carting them around in a backpack, they were filled with all kinds of facts from "A" to "Z"--literally. I'm really kinda sad to see them go. I realize that, in an ever changing society that's constantly making technological advances, the time would eventually come for the extinction of these dinosaurs.
It's a shame my nephew (who's nearly 12 years old) will never hear his parents utter the words, "Look it up in the encyclopedia." He only knows the instant gratification that Google and other online search engines provide. The other day, I asked him if he even knew what a card catalog was, and he replied, "You mean that big cabinet with all the little drawers?" Ugh--I'm older than I thought!
While I do appreciate the convenience of settling a fight about song lyrics or the inventor of bubblegum on the spot with the use of my iPhone, there's something to be said about the mystery of who's actually right. Well, thanks to Google, that mystery is solved (and I can gloat about being right!)...because there are some things you just can't find in an encyclopedia anyway.
In the olden days, if we needed information about something, we had to look it up in the encyclopedia. Well, I'm sad to say that, just a few weeks ago, Encyclopedia Britannica announced they will no longer print hard copies. Everything is now digital. I'm not ashamed to admit that the English/grammar nerd inside of me was a little disappointed to hear the news.
As much as I hated scouring the pages of those massive reference books for information to fill countless school reports, I relied on them all throughout my elementary education. While one could easily suffer a hernia from carting them around in a backpack, they were filled with all kinds of facts from "A" to "Z"--literally. I'm really kinda sad to see them go. I realize that, in an ever changing society that's constantly making technological advances, the time would eventually come for the extinction of these dinosaurs.
It's a shame my nephew (who's nearly 12 years old) will never hear his parents utter the words, "Look it up in the encyclopedia." He only knows the instant gratification that Google and other online search engines provide. The other day, I asked him if he even knew what a card catalog was, and he replied, "You mean that big cabinet with all the little drawers?" Ugh--I'm older than I thought!
While I do appreciate the convenience of settling a fight about song lyrics or the inventor of bubblegum on the spot with the use of my iPhone, there's something to be said about the mystery of who's actually right. Well, thanks to Google, that mystery is solved (and I can gloat about being right!)...because there are some things you just can't find in an encyclopedia anyway.
RIP
Encyclopedia Britannica
1768 - 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Expen$ive Ta$te
My brother thinks I'm spoiled, and though he may be partially correct, please allow me to explain myself before you pass judgment. In the past, I had the privilege of experiencing some unique fine dining situations. In college, I dated a Floridian pastry chef and, with that, came the perks of a certain type of lifestyle. Whenever I'd go visit the Sunshine State (that is Florida, isn't it?), he used his pull and connections in the culinary industry to wine and dine me. From these experiences, I may have developed what my mom likes to call "expensive taste," but I assure you it was long before these evenings of 5-course meals out that my appetite for the finer things in life had been whetted--and by the way, my parents also played a huge role in tempting my tastebuds.
In fact, by age 3, I had been to Hawaii--not once--but twice! While I'm sorry to say that one of my fondest memories of these extravagant vacations was going for a walk with my granddaddy to discover hundreds of dead frogs along the road after a rainstorm, I am not embarrassed by my not-so-humble beginnings. I know how truly blessed I have been to experience many things most people only dream of--and THAT, my friend, may make me spoiled, but it does NOT make me a spoiled brat.
Unlike the children of Hollywood's richest celebrities, I didn't wear designer clothes on the playground...nor did I receive a brand new sportscar when I turned 16. Don't get me wrong--I was well-cared for, but I wasn't unbelievably spoiled. While my parents footed the bill for my five-year college education and sorority dues so I wouldn't be in debt up to my eyeballs resulting from student loans 20 years down the road, I am not oblivious to the sacrifices they had to make to be able to cover these expenses. I am grateful for everything I've ever been given, but I'm not so spoiled that I feel entitlement to a handout. I am now out on my own in the real world, a fully capable 31-year-old working woman who is her sole support.
I've had some tough financial times, and I must admit it's nice to know I don't ever have to worry about my electricity being shut off or living in a cardboard box at the airport because my parents will always be there if I need them. But I can honestly say it's not their finances I'm most reliable on--it's their unconditional love and support that I'm most thankful for.
I'm very girly, and it's true that I have a great love of food and fashion. There are times when getting dressed up and going out on the town for a fancy meal is all it takes to make me happy, but I don't expect such luxuries on a daily basis. It's just nice to experience "richer fare" once in awhile for a special occasion. Just last week, Jeremy surprised me and took me out for my birthday to my all-time favorite restaurant--Bob's Steak & Chop House. He even wore a suit! (and looked incredibly handsome). While his choice of restaurant was surprising, the real surprise was that he was willing to pick up the check at such a place.
You see, Jeremy and I are two very different people. Five-star dinners are not his choice of money well spent. He would be happy eating at El Fenix every single day (I'm dead serious) in jeans and a T-shirt. While I greatly enjoyed dinner and his thoughtful birthday surprise, I must confess it took just a tiny bit of my joy away when he looked at the bill, paused, and then said he was "crying a little on the inside." I guess I will just have to realize that he and I will never agree on spending money this way. Sometimes, I believe the experience is worth the money when he always wants to have something to show for it. So I'll just have to hit up the ritzy wine bars with my dad--a fellow lover of the finer things in life. (Come on--where do you think I got it?!)
I spend most of my hard-earned money on clothes and shoes, but I don't own a pair of Louboutins, and there's not a single garment from Neiman's hanging in my closet. I enjoy a $40 glass (yes, I said glass) of wine on occasion (usually when Dad's paying!), but I'll drink the $3 bottle of Oak Leaf from WalMart on a weekly basis. I enjoy fancy vacations to tropical paradises, but I'm just as happy going on a 3-day road trip to New Braunfels in South Texas. You see, it's all about balance. There's nothing wrong with occasionally splurging and still being able to appreciate the everyday stuff, too. That's what truly makes a person "refined"--their experiences in life. I'm happy to say I've had many that I wouldn't trade for the world--and they've made me who I am today. So yes, I may shell out big money for name-brand cosmetics, highlights, cute shoes and the occasional designer handbag, but I don't take any of it for granted. After all, it's just "stuff"....and besides, I already know that the best things in life aren't things.
In fact, by age 3, I had been to Hawaii--not once--but twice! While I'm sorry to say that one of my fondest memories of these extravagant vacations was going for a walk with my granddaddy to discover hundreds of dead frogs along the road after a rainstorm, I am not embarrassed by my not-so-humble beginnings. I know how truly blessed I have been to experience many things most people only dream of--and THAT, my friend, may make me spoiled, but it does NOT make me a spoiled brat.
Unlike the children of Hollywood's richest celebrities, I didn't wear designer clothes on the playground...nor did I receive a brand new sportscar when I turned 16. Don't get me wrong--I was well-cared for, but I wasn't unbelievably spoiled. While my parents footed the bill for my five-year college education and sorority dues so I wouldn't be in debt up to my eyeballs resulting from student loans 20 years down the road, I am not oblivious to the sacrifices they had to make to be able to cover these expenses. I am grateful for everything I've ever been given, but I'm not so spoiled that I feel entitlement to a handout. I am now out on my own in the real world, a fully capable 31-year-old working woman who is her sole support.
I've had some tough financial times, and I must admit it's nice to know I don't ever have to worry about my electricity being shut off or living in a cardboard box at the airport because my parents will always be there if I need them. But I can honestly say it's not their finances I'm most reliable on--it's their unconditional love and support that I'm most thankful for.
I'm very girly, and it's true that I have a great love of food and fashion. There are times when getting dressed up and going out on the town for a fancy meal is all it takes to make me happy, but I don't expect such luxuries on a daily basis. It's just nice to experience "richer fare" once in awhile for a special occasion. Just last week, Jeremy surprised me and took me out for my birthday to my all-time favorite restaurant--Bob's Steak & Chop House. He even wore a suit! (and looked incredibly handsome). While his choice of restaurant was surprising, the real surprise was that he was willing to pick up the check at such a place.
You see, Jeremy and I are two very different people. Five-star dinners are not his choice of money well spent. He would be happy eating at El Fenix every single day (I'm dead serious) in jeans and a T-shirt. While I greatly enjoyed dinner and his thoughtful birthday surprise, I must confess it took just a tiny bit of my joy away when he looked at the bill, paused, and then said he was "crying a little on the inside." I guess I will just have to realize that he and I will never agree on spending money this way. Sometimes, I believe the experience is worth the money when he always wants to have something to show for it. So I'll just have to hit up the ritzy wine bars with my dad--a fellow lover of the finer things in life. (Come on--where do you think I got it?!)
I spend most of my hard-earned money on clothes and shoes, but I don't own a pair of Louboutins, and there's not a single garment from Neiman's hanging in my closet. I enjoy a $40 glass (yes, I said glass) of wine on occasion (usually when Dad's paying!), but I'll drink the $3 bottle of Oak Leaf from WalMart on a weekly basis. I enjoy fancy vacations to tropical paradises, but I'm just as happy going on a 3-day road trip to New Braunfels in South Texas. You see, it's all about balance. There's nothing wrong with occasionally splurging and still being able to appreciate the everyday stuff, too. That's what truly makes a person "refined"--their experiences in life. I'm happy to say I've had many that I wouldn't trade for the world--and they've made me who I am today. So yes, I may shell out big money for name-brand cosmetics, highlights, cute shoes and the occasional designer handbag, but I don't take any of it for granted. After all, it's just "stuff"....and besides, I already know that the best things in life aren't things.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Aunty = Awesome!
Whether I care or not to admit it, I'm now at the age where people ask me if I have kids, and I can't look at them as if they're crazy because it's a completely legitimate question. My answer is always, "No, but I have a niece and nephew, and that's way more fun!"
I truly believe that all kids need to have a "cool, fun aunt." Since I'm not married and I don't have any rug rats of my own, that's exactly what I intend to be. If you think about it, being an aunt is the greatest thing in the world--you get to spoil the kids rotten and do all the fun stuff without the temper tantrums, terrible two's, disciplining, and diaper changing.
Speaking of diapers, it's important that I share a major milestone with you. At nearly 31 years old, I recently changed my first diaper. Yes, it's true, and if you know me, you'd realize how huge an accomplishment that is since I swore the first poopy diaper I ever changed would be that of my own child.
Mom says I should be embarrassed to admit that I've never changed a diaper, but being that I was always the youngest and never around kids other than the occasional babysitting job (which I refused to accept if the kids weren't potty trained), I don't think that's unusual at all. Why in the world would I volunteer to change someone else's baby's diaper?!
A few weeks ago when my brother and sister-in-law needed a babysitter for a few early-morning hours and no one else was available, I decided I was finally up for the challenge of diapering. I love my little niece more than anything in the world, so I figured I could suck it up and finally change a poopy diaper. I would only be alone with her for several hours, and how many times can one kid poop in the morning anyway? As often as I've seen others change diapers, I figured it would be a piece of cake (maybe that's not a good cliche to use here since we're talking about poop). Anyway, much to my surprise, it proved a bit more challenging than I realized.
I laid Tori down on the changing table while trying my hardest to breathe through my mouth. I must admit I cringed with dread as I undid the Velcro tabs on her diaper. "This is not so bad," I thought to myself. She wasn't that messy. In fact, it looked like round little rabbit pellets. (Sorry if that's too much info!) I lifted her legs up and grabbed the wipes, while trying to scoop up the dirty diaper, but a runaway turd rolled out and onto the table. Ewww! I tried scooping it up and getting it back in the dirty diaper while keeping Tori's legs extended straight up in the air. I must not lay the kid back down on the rabbit pellets. All the while, she was wrinkling her nose and crying, "Tinky, tinky!" Yes, I know it's stinky, baby--hold on. Since I only have two hands (I swear, you need at least three for this job!), I had difficulty getting the poopy diaper all wrapped up until after the wiping was done. As you can imagine, that caused the stench to linger in the air a little longer than either of us deemed necessary.
Finally, I got her cleaned up and put a new diaper on only to realize that I had it on backward as she whined "hurt, hurt." Come on, I thought this was supposed to be easy! I turned it around, powdered her little bottom, and fastened that sucker up as quickly as I could. Finally, mission accomplished. I did it! Now to get rid of the little ball of stink. All I have to say is, thank the Good Lord for the Diaper Genie. I opened the lid, dropped it in and Tori said, "Bye, bye stinky Mickey!" (Her diapers have Mickey Mouse on them.) Thank goodness I only had to change one diaper that day. I know the more you do something, the better you become at it, but I think changing diapers is something I'm not so sure I want to achieve expert status in. I love my niece and nephew, but I think I'm gonna stick to my potty-training rule before babysitting again.
Once Tori gets a bit older and can wipe her own little bottom, then lookout--'cause here we come! Tori will have a full day of fun with Aunty Cassie....and I bet there will be a trip to the shoe store, nail salon, and ice cream shop involved.
I truly believe that all kids need to have a "cool, fun aunt." Since I'm not married and I don't have any rug rats of my own, that's exactly what I intend to be. If you think about it, being an aunt is the greatest thing in the world--you get to spoil the kids rotten and do all the fun stuff without the temper tantrums, terrible two's, disciplining, and diaper changing.
Speaking of diapers, it's important that I share a major milestone with you. At nearly 31 years old, I recently changed my first diaper. Yes, it's true, and if you know me, you'd realize how huge an accomplishment that is since I swore the first poopy diaper I ever changed would be that of my own child.
Mom says I should be embarrassed to admit that I've never changed a diaper, but being that I was always the youngest and never around kids other than the occasional babysitting job (which I refused to accept if the kids weren't potty trained), I don't think that's unusual at all. Why in the world would I volunteer to change someone else's baby's diaper?!
A few weeks ago when my brother and sister-in-law needed a babysitter for a few early-morning hours and no one else was available, I decided I was finally up for the challenge of diapering. I love my little niece more than anything in the world, so I figured I could suck it up and finally change a poopy diaper. I would only be alone with her for several hours, and how many times can one kid poop in the morning anyway? As often as I've seen others change diapers, I figured it would be a piece of cake (maybe that's not a good cliche to use here since we're talking about poop). Anyway, much to my surprise, it proved a bit more challenging than I realized.
I laid Tori down on the changing table while trying my hardest to breathe through my mouth. I must admit I cringed with dread as I undid the Velcro tabs on her diaper. "This is not so bad," I thought to myself. She wasn't that messy. In fact, it looked like round little rabbit pellets. (Sorry if that's too much info!) I lifted her legs up and grabbed the wipes, while trying to scoop up the dirty diaper, but a runaway turd rolled out and onto the table. Ewww! I tried scooping it up and getting it back in the dirty diaper while keeping Tori's legs extended straight up in the air. I must not lay the kid back down on the rabbit pellets. All the while, she was wrinkling her nose and crying, "Tinky, tinky!" Yes, I know it's stinky, baby--hold on. Since I only have two hands (I swear, you need at least three for this job!), I had difficulty getting the poopy diaper all wrapped up until after the wiping was done. As you can imagine, that caused the stench to linger in the air a little longer than either of us deemed necessary.
Finally, I got her cleaned up and put a new diaper on only to realize that I had it on backward as she whined "hurt, hurt." Come on, I thought this was supposed to be easy! I turned it around, powdered her little bottom, and fastened that sucker up as quickly as I could. Finally, mission accomplished. I did it! Now to get rid of the little ball of stink. All I have to say is, thank the Good Lord for the Diaper Genie. I opened the lid, dropped it in and Tori said, "Bye, bye stinky Mickey!" (Her diapers have Mickey Mouse on them.) Thank goodness I only had to change one diaper that day. I know the more you do something, the better you become at it, but I think changing diapers is something I'm not so sure I want to achieve expert status in. I love my niece and nephew, but I think I'm gonna stick to my potty-training rule before babysitting again.
Once Tori gets a bit older and can wipe her own little bottom, then lookout--'cause here we come! Tori will have a full day of fun with Aunty Cassie....and I bet there will be a trip to the shoe store, nail salon, and ice cream shop involved.
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